


But trust me on the sunscreen

by rallamajoop



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Suntan Lotion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 04:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/593406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rallamajoop/pseuds/rallamajoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate take on the deeper implications of every Cable/Deadpool fan's favourite scene from the comic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But trust me on the sunscreen

**Author's Note:**

> Just in case it wasn't obvious from context, set shortly after the events of issues #20 and #21.

Because he was, at heart, a complete and utter bastard, it wasn't until several hours later, at a moment when Wade was completely off his guard that Nate got around to asking, "So. Suntan lotion?"

"Wanna make something of it?" Wade muttered.

"Not at all," said Nate, mildly. "It just seemed a curious item for you to fixate on."

"I know, right?" said Wade. "So there I was thinking, how do I know _everyone_ doesn't get suntan lotion? Wouldn't it be a cunning plan for the hot snake lady to give her speech about our darkest fantasies, blow a bit of smoke around and show us all a two minute psychic suntan lotion commercial? Then while everyone is sitting around going, 'Suntan lotion? My darkest fantasy involves _suntan lotion?_ Why suntan lotion?' she sneaks off! The only way we as a society are ever going to break the suntan lotion conspiracy is if someone breaks the silence."

"That would be a very cunning plan."

"An _ingeeeniously_ cunning plan, and because I like you so very much, Summers, I'm going to ignore that note of sarcasm I heard in your voice just now."

"The only problem with it," said Nate, being his far-too-reasonable self, "is that I _didn't_ get suntan lotion. Which puts a bit of a hole in your theory."

"Are you going to tell me what you did get? 'Cause otherwise this is really not fair..."

"Do you want to know what I saw, Wade?" Nate did not sound like it would bother him either way. Trust him not to know when to be properly embarrassed like a normal human being.

Wade thought for a minute before a horrible realisation struck him. "...it wasn't a sex thing, was it?"

"No."

"...it was some big world domination fantasy where you unite us all with psychic kumbaya power, wasn't it?"

"You might say it was along those general lines."

"Tell me it didn't end with you dying tragically nailed to a big cross."

"If it makes you feel better."

"Ha fucking ha ha."

Out of the corner of his eye, Wade saw Nate raise an eyebrow, clearly floored by this rapier piece of wit.

"Which brings us back," said Nate, "to the question of what it was you saw being done with the suntan lotion."

"Don't you have, like, a world to dominate or something?"

"It'll keep. I very much doubt you have a fetish for either artificial tans or sun safety. As a sexual lubricant, it's serviceable but only moderately exotic – compared to most of the other fantasies you've admitted to, positively mundane..."

"Shows what you know! Anyone with a real imagination could give you lots of other uses for suntan lotion." Wade tried very hard to think of one that wasn't 'sensual massage'. "Like, lots and lots!"

"Are you sure it's not those commercials for WD-40 you're thinking of?"

"...what?"

"Those ones that go on about its many different uses."

"Did you just say WD-40?"

"Is something wrong, Wade?"

"N-no! Nothing at all and there absolutely wasn't any WD-40 in the dream too!" Whew, another close save!

"No? Well, that leaves us with the suntan lotion again, doesn't it?"

"Lots and _lots_ of uses!" Wade protested desperately, but Nate wasn't listening.

"It does, of course, make for a very convenient excuse to give someone an intimate massage."

"It's me, Nate! Don't you think my darkest fantasy would be something a little more devious than a massage?" Wade tried.

"Depends on who it was giving you the massage, doesn't it?"

"Who or _what_ Nate, _who or what_ , and I'm warning you, you do not want to go there – this could be your last chance to back up!"

"Or who you were giving it to," Nate finished.

The sentence hung there, rather like Wile E Coyote in the crucial seconds before he looked down and realised he'd walked off a cliff.

"Speechless, Wade? You?" said a very smug Nate. "I must be getting warmer."

"Well, uh, obviously, it was... uh..." C'mon, roll with the punches!

"Mm?" said Nate, helpfully.

"...y'know, that obscure and not conventionally attractive but easily googled celebrity person that I am so obsessed with for no reason, haha, running joke, oh that wacky Deadpool?"

"You know," said Nate, conversationally, "if you'd said 'Bea Arthur' there, I would have believed you."

"Bea Arthur! Of course! Who else would it be but-"

"Nice try, Wade, but a little short on the timing. Who was it really?"

When all else failed, there was always flat-out denial to fall back on. "Ha! Wild Zontars couldn't drag that information out of me! Do your worst!"

"Wade," said Nate, in that voice that meant, to Wade's horror, that he was going to be serious about this, "I like to think that I've come to know you fairly well over the last few months, and I've heard you express your... let's say 'admiration' for everyone from gossip column celebrities to gracefully aging sitcom stars – not always of the same gender persuasion, I might add – with remarkably little embarrassment. I've heard you talking in your sleep, nearly too many times for comfort. When I try to think of who it could possibly be who you _wouldn't_ admit to me, I'm coming up with a very short list of possibilities."

"That just proves how completely lacking in imagination you are..."

"Because there are 'lots' of uses for suntan lotion, and you were thinking about 'that obscure celebrity'?"

"Oh screw you, I _knew_ you were doing this on purpose."

"So, tell me Wade," Nate whispered, " _Was_ it me you were dreaming about?"

Wade took a deep and completely-not-shaky breath. "Nice try, Priscilla, but I know better than to feed _your_ ego after midnight."

Nate chuckled. "It's only 11:30."

" _But in which timezone?_ Can't be too careful! There's a principle at stake here!"

"Because you're a man of such principles. _This_ timezone, for your information. Should we see if you last another half hour?"

Wade did what any self respecting man would have done and made a run for it. He leapt over three chairs, dived over the table, somersaulted across the floor and jumped clean through the window, spraying glass shards all over the street below. In his head. He even gave the scene dramatic camera work and slow motion flashbacks from multiple perspectives.

He cracked open an eyelid. Nate was still there. He hadn't even bothered to move to a different angle. Prick.

Wade gave in.

"Sheesh, okay! _It was you!_ Happy now?"

Nate's hand stilled. "Why Wade, I had no idea you felt like that. I'm touched."

Wade made another coordinated attempt to storm out. He informed all his extremities that comfortable-sprawling time was _over_ , and everyone was expected to do their bit in this mission-critical extraction operation, in five... four... three...

On 'one', a couple of muscles tensed slightly, groaned with effort, decided this was too much work, and went back to sleep again.

"You're just a regular comedian tonight, aren't you Nate?" Wade muttered, trying to pretend he hadn't just had yet another escape attempt cruelly foiled.

The hand started moving again, up his spine toward the base of his neck. "I'm being quite sincere."

"And it's sincerely a total shock that the guy you're _in bed with right now_ has had a few dirty thoughts about you."

"Interesting you should put it that way. We've spent most of the evenings – not to mention other times of day – of the last few weeks having every kind of sex your capable imagination could come up with..."

"Just two buds lending each other a helping hand, like best fuck buddies do, not in a gay way, not that there's anything wrong with that..."

"...and yet, in your off-hours, you're still fantasising about giving me a sensual massage? By your standards, that's positively...'

"G rated? I know, I know, I'm such a huge disappointment. I'm sorry, I don't know what to tell you. Probably need hours talking to my therapist about how I wasn't traumatised enough as a child-"

"I was going to say 'positively romantic'."

Wade's muscles still weren't returning his calls. Nate had taken advantage of his post-coital sprawling habit to find a pressure point that turned all four of Wade's limbs and most of his brain into jelly. Damn Nate. Damn him to... to... place. That really sucky place. Started with 'H'. Involved in damning. Hoover Dam! That was the one. Damn him there!

"One might almost think," Nate went on, "it means you wanted more out of this relationship than casual sex."

Stupid Nate, breaking out _both_ 'R' words in as many sentences. What was wrong with casual? Couldn't two friends who shared equal billing on a long-running team-up series, who got on inexplicably well despite wildly contrasting personalities and who kept doing ridiculous things to stay together just have meaningless, obligation-free sex anymore? "Yeah? Well one might also think that 'get fucked' means 'have a wonderful evening'."

Nate raised his eyebrows. "Didn't you?"

"...okay, yeah, don't really know where I was going with that one. What I was clearly _trying_ to say," said Wade, finally hitting a long overdue pocket of inspiration, "is that sure, one _might_. Or one might be lucky enough to be having his casual sex with someone who respects his personal space and boundaries, and understands that sometimes he might have _very private_ fantasies in the space of his _very private_ head, and the other someone would not _dream_ of making a big deal of them because they are none of his freaking business and probably don't even mean anything anyway."

"Ah," said Nate, reluctantly. "I suppose you do have a point there."

Victory thus achieved, Wade decided to be magnanimous about it. "Point, whatever. Could've sworn we were changing the subject back there."

"Were we? Oh. Well then..." For several blissful seconds, Nate was deep in thought.

"You know, my regular masseuse is going to be visiting family in Australia next week," he said, after a bit.

"Ooh, poor baby's going to have last a week without a backrub? How ever will you cope," said Wade, sympathetically.

"Three weeks, actually, but I don't see why. I'm sure I can find someone to fill in for her."

"...you stop that train of thought right there, because if you think I'm going to..."

"Actually, I was thinking of asking Irene."

Whatever pressure point Nate had been exploiting to keep him from moving all this time must have failed very suddenly, because Wade twisted around so fast that you could almost hear the laws of physics and biology creaking around the edges.

" _Irene?_ " Nate was going to let _Irene_ drizzle oil all over his naked back? "Are you insane? Irene who's had an unrequited crush on you for only, what, forever?"

"You have a better suggestion?"

"What _you_ need," said Wade firmly, "is someone who's already familiar with you in the buff, who won't get all schmoopy about the thought of getting their hands on your bod, and, y'know, rubbing scented oils into that muscular torso and sensuously exploring all its..."

"Does that mean you're volunteering?"

Wade jerked out of wherever he'd been. "As a favour to you, Nate, I think can probably find some time in my busy schedule."

"Thank you, Wade," said Nate. "I'm sure I'll be in good hands."

Wade patted himself on the back for that inspired act of subtlety, and plotted what to do with that favour Nate was going to owe him.

A thought struck him. "Are there any tropical beaches on Providence?"

"Beaches? We're made out of metal," Nate reminded him. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason."


End file.
